


Under the Gods, We Learnt Ourselves

by A_Tardis_in_Turkey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Jealousy, Jon is Brandon's bastard, Stark family feels, Teenagers, all the starks - Freeform, not really but that's what Ned has told everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-01-04 20:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12176313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Tardis_in_Turkey/pseuds/A_Tardis_in_Turkey
Summary: Ned brings back a bastard boy from Dorne.  But it's Brandon's son, not his, and Catelyn loves him for it.  Jon grows up with his cousins in the North, furiously protective of his Lady cousins, Sansa most of all.  But as they grow, Ned sees signs of change, and he is unsure of the future waiting for his children and nephew.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted also on my new side-blog Letitia-is-cross on Tumblr as well. Thank you for reading. Please enjoy!

Jon Snow loved all his cousins.

This was a truth known throughout the North. He loved sweet Bran, little Rickon and his brother in all but word, Robb. It was, however, Arya who was always close by, always heard and always nurtured by Jon. It was Sansa, looked upon so tenderly, treated so carefully, and teased so gently, who held Jon's favour.

The two Stark daughters held particular positions in Jon Snow's regard, and everyone knew it. It was evident enough whenever an upstart lordling either courted too hard, or spoke too crudely at a Winterfell feast.

The bastard of Winterfell, Brandon Stark's natural son, and beloved nephew of Lord and Lady Stark was, one could say, extremely protective of Arya and Sansa Stark.

Ned had encouraged it. So had Catelyn. Really, what did it matter if the sons of the North thought twice before approaching his daughters. What did it matter that Jon and Robb were more than happy to bruise boys and meddle with young men too eager and too rude. After all, they were family; they were a pack.

Ned didn't know when that had started to change. But looking upon the scene before him, he knew there must have been signs. There had to have been. Jon indulging Sansa in a dance. Arya running off to Robb in the training yard, with his eldest daughter and nephew no where to be seen. An Umber boy with a fractured cheek and a limp to his gait that suggested anger overriding senses.

That suggested jealousy. And rage.

There were signs. He was just too fool to see them.

 

* * *

 

Ned stayed stock still.

At this point he knew any movement or sound would disrupt the pair, and although he at once longed to do so, he could only stare in abject fascination. It was as if the gods had sent him back in time, out of his body, watching himself and Cat, learning each other in the wake of a rebellion, a son, and a nephew.

It was even under the heart tree, where the Gods were privy to moments he held so very dear and were known only to Them, himself, and his beloved wife. Should he take this as their blessing? Were the Gods approving the match?

They knew of his nephew's true heritage, and the impossibility of a match between Jon and Sansa, whether he was a prince or a bastard of Brandon for true. Sansa was meant for another. Whoever that may be.

But he was getting ahead of himself. It was no match set before him. No. Jon and Sansa were close, the North knew that, and Ned did too. It was nothing really to worry about, it couldn't be. After all, they were only-

"Ned! I have need of you! Your youngest son is riding his direwolf through the halls of this castle and you know he listens to you when- oh!"

It was too late. Catelyn, had disturbed the pair and they tore apart with alacrity. But Jon's fingers lingered for a second on the curve of Sansa's hip and his nostrils flared as he took a last breath of her scented hair, previously spread over his shoulder and torso.

Ned knew she had seen them though, and he knew she too had seen their past selves, moments before they made love for the first time as themselves, not the paragons of duty their houses demanded, repeating their vows into each other's skin beneath the eyes of the old Gods.

How Sansa's head fit into the space above Jon's heart and under his lips like Cat's had - and still did when they lay under the furs, recovering from blissful reprieves.

He met his beloved wife's eyes, and he knew she saw what he saw, and turning back to the young pair before him, they knew it too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Ned, some Cat, and a little taste of Jon. Hope you enjoy!! Many thanks to those who commented and left kudos and bookmarked! So wonderful to see people enjoying it. Hope this one is up to scratch.

Sometimes Ned wasn't sure he'd made the right choices. He'd been so close to claiming his nephew; had chosen the words, the phrases, had repeated them over and over in his head. It took one look at his lovely wife, pale and drawn, standing in the courtyard of Winterfell with their son in her arms, and he couldn't say them.

Maybe things would have been better, he knew it had brought Cat pain to think her once betrothed had laid with another soon before they would have been wed. But he knew that it would pain her infinitely more to think it his, and to have to face a husband, wed and vowed, that had done so. And he was selfish. He saw the pain of such a deception stretching on and on into a future where even if they loved each other, there would always be a breach, whose name was Jon.

So Jon became Brandon's son, but he acted like Ned's. He was quiet, calm, and had a tender hand. Ned worried once that the North may have been growing almost suspicious, for Jon was so like him, despite how ridiculous the very idea of honourable Ned Stark having a bastard would be.

Things changed when Jon and Robb started to leave boyhood.

Both were strong fighters, with Robb and his bulky build holding a lance as finely as any jumped up southern knight, and Jon with his broad shoulders and trim waist handling a sword with precision and grace. But Jon showed an edge in the ring that could never have come from Ned. He did not show it against his brother, and he did not use it against any of the younger boys training in the yard. But when Theon crowded Sansa against a wall, or slid a hand a touch too low; when a Karstark teen compared Arya unfavourably to her sister- then there was no trouble believing that Jon Snow could be Brandon Stark's son. There was a fury there, and it blew hot, and it blew cold, and it rivalled Brandon at his most incandescent.

Even Benjen, when he came down from the Wall, had remarked on it upon seeing Jon thrashing Theon over a crude comment overheard at the supper table.

 

_"_ _You know, Ned... at one point I worried that perhaps you had not told us truly of Jon's father. I saw so much of you in him, Gods he was more like Lyanna with her stories and her riding than he was the son of Brandon."_

_Ned glanced sharply over at Benjen where he stood with ale in hand and shoulder leant against the castle wall._

_"_ _Benjen...", he started._

_"_ _\- I'm sorry Ned, I should never have thought such a thing. He is Brandon's for true. Just look at that ferocity. It reminds of how Brandon duelled that idiot man Baelish over Cat. The Greyjoy boy cannot match him, just like the Peter boy had no chance against Brandon. Especially when angered over those he cared for."_

_Ned nodded slowly, his heart pounding. Benjen had been so close. One mention of their sister and Ned had felt as if his stomach had been run through. But the fire in Jon's eyes had done its job, and he was safe._

 

Looking at Jon now, standing just in front of Sansa, half covering her, he wondered if maybe he should have claimed this boy as his bastard. For surely this could not have happened if they were raised as half siblings. But then, if they Gods saw fit, then they would have their way, and Ned, who had Cat and his children through the unexpected changes of fate, understood that better than most.

Ned sighed again. Gods it felt like all he had done for the day was sigh.

"Jon, come talk to me tonight in my solar, after supper. I have need to talk with you. Sansa... back to your lessons, sweetling. I'm sure your septa is looking for you."

"Yes, Father."

"Yes, Uncle Ned."

Jon slipped his hand back towards Sansa and lightly grasped her fingers between his, tugging her forward gently in front of him, and leading her out of the Godswood. He saw Sansa turn back and murmur quietly to the young man, smiling so tenderly he could see Jon's shoulders ease their tension just from basking in such an expression. Their hands intertwined briefly before Jon's moved to her back gently encouraging her pace as they disappeared amongst the trees.

Gods.

What was he going to do.

  

* * *

 

 

Catelyn had been frosty, at first. Had been worried over her son, had been saddened by the actions of a man she had loved as a girl. But Jon looked like Ned, and by gods he looked like Brandon, and when he screwed his face up, so small, crying out for a mother, he looked just like Robb.  Jon nursed at her breast alongside his cousin, and whilst she would never be his mother, not in name and not in truth, she was Aunt Cat, and she loved her nephew.

When Sansa was born, Catelyn knew she had made the right decision to love her nephew.

The most beautiful babe she had ever seen, with eyes and skin and lips that would be a blessing and a curse as she flowered, Sansa stark was truly a lovely creature from the moment of her birth.

Whilst Robb called her pretty, and new and decided that he would very much enjoy having her to play with when she was a bit bigger and stopped making such silly sounds and rolling around, Jon was different.

Jon was fascinated by Sansa and her bright hair, a full head that grew so rapidly and so thick even Catelyn cursed it at times, her rosy cheeks and her sweetness. For truly Sansa was a sweet babe, never squalling, never screaming and always happiest when there was someone to smile at.

The same was true when Arya was born, though she certainly cried more and smiled less, Jon loved his little cousin and adored doting on the little black-haired girl, who looked so much like him.

By the time Bran and Rickon were born, Jon was a better nursemaid than most of the ones employed by the castle and alongside Sansa, helped Cat whenever possible, never minding any teasing from Robb or Arya, and happily punching Theon if he joined in.

Catelyn couldn't help love her nephew for the love he held for her children and so when she noticed Jon becoming even more protective of Sansa she couldn't bring herself to mind it. They had been close from the moment Jon had looked upon her in the crib and had helped Catelyn wash her downy baby hair.

She saw her nephew bestow a kiss on his cousin's forehead and recalled the many times he had done so before.

She saw him beat Theon Greyjoy into a purpling stumbling mess in the training yard and could not but be satisfied after hearing what he had said about her daughters growing 'assets'.

And when she saw Jon Snow cradling her daughter in his arms, his lips resting against her auburn tresses, and such a look of peaceful contentment across his brow, resting against the heart tree, she sighed. Because she saw this coming, but she hadn't wanted to think about it. Because she knew her dear husband would have no idea, would have blocked the possibility from his mind. Because that was a lovers' embrace, or as close to it as one could get fully clothed.

 

* * *

 

Jon kissed the palm of Sansa's hand, flicking his tongue out so briefly and lightly for a taste of her sweet skin, he was sure she would not feel it. He heard her draw breath at the touch, however, and almost hoped she felt it, and almost hoped she realised how much he ached to taste her every moment and in every way.

He drew back however, running a light hand over the crown of her head drinking her in until he would see her again at supper, inwardly wondering when it got to this point, when he could barely part from her a day without aching once more.

It didn't matter, he would not think on it, he would not worry Sansa by showing his pains outwardly, and everything would be fine. Yes, everything would be fine.

Gods.

What was he going to do.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some younger Jon, some Arya, and a touch more Ned. For info, Jon and Robb are 19, Sansa is 16, Arya is 14, Bran is 12 and Rickon is 8. This partly because I just can't write romance at younger ages, and partly because there are changes to the timeline that I will be slowly revealing. Enjoy and thank you for reading!!!

**Two Years Previously:**

Jon wasn't normally like this. Of course, even he knew he was overprotective of his lady cousins. But that was when cunts mocked Arya behind her back, or lusted over Sansa too obviously and dared to touch her delicate frame. It was when they had done something _wrong._ And this Brandon Tallhart actually seemed to be a decent man.

But Jon hated him. Couldn't stand the sight of the fucker's face.

His hands curled into fists at his side as he watched the man make his cousin laugh. He didn't even use it as an opportunity to move closer in, as many a crude arse had done, attempting to charm but only succeeding in causing discomfort.

The worst part was that Sansa seemed to like the man. She was smiling at him, and not just her courteous smile (which over the years had become more common around men not of her family) but a friendly, warm smile.

It made him sick.

It made him furious.

Sansa laid a hand on Tallhart's arm and he snapped. Growling under his breath he strode over to Sansa and grasped her hand, gripping it in his own and drawing her into his side.

"Sansa, come with me."

She at him quizzically, frowning slightly. Jon scrambled for an excuse, even though all he wanted to do was draw her closer and glare at the Tallhart boy over her head.

"Your Mother has need of you... something about the... seating placement for the feast."

Sansa raised an eyebrow at him, looking sceptical, but nodded all the same before turning back to Tallhart, opening her mouth to excuse herself.

"You're Lady Sansa's bastard cousin are you not? Should not a bastard run off to where you belong and let the lady be escorted by someone... more suitable?" Tallhart sneered at Jon, puffing his chest out like the cunt he was.

Jon couldn't have been happier. He couldn't even bring himself to be irritated by the idiot for being such a prick.

Sansa's friendly smile melted off her face in seconds, lifting her nose and staring down at Brandon Tallhart like he was the mud on her slippers. She curled herself back towards Jon entwining their arms. Jon felt a smirk of pure smug contentment spread across his lips, leaning down to breathe in the scent that was pure Sansa; lemon cakes and lavender oils.

"That's quite alright Lord Tallhart. I believe I have the best escort available in the circumstances- after all, I believe given your reputations in the training yard, I am safer with my cousin by far."

Jon felt only a primal satisfaction at her words and seeing the condescension drip slowly off Tallhart's ugly mug with every stinging barb. Something hot and powerful was curling under his skin, burning him up and sharpening every place he touched Sansa. Sliding a hand to the dip in her waist he steered her in front of him, glaring back at Tallhart with every ounce of fire he felt filling his belly, thinking only one thing.

_Mine._

 

 

Jon stared Tallhart down in the yard, feeling a familiar warmth curl in his stomach again, along with a primal need to prove himself, to prove his superiority over this buggering arse who thought himself good enough for his cousin. As if he were good enough to even breathe near Sansa, the most beloved lady in the North.

Glancing over at his direwolf, he calmed himself before suggesting to Ghost that he find Sansa and Lady across the bond he didn't understand but knew was there. Ghost didn't need much encouragement, he loved following Sansa around, and he got along better with Lady than other direwolves, curling up with her in front of the hearth more often than not.

Turning back to Tallhart he smirked, remembering the many unworthy suitors he had beat down before, especially that Umber scum that dared to steal a kiss from Sansa while in his cups. He heard the man's cheek had healed with quite the bump still showing.

He wondered briefly if he should think of some excuse in case Uncle Ned wondered why he thrashed Tallhart quite so badly. Him making Sansa smile didn't seem quite appropriate for the damage he intended to do, but then again â€“ he didn't really care. He was here to prove something. That something being that he was better qualified than all these fools. None of them would protect Sansa better than him, none of them could.

He would prove it.

 

* * *

 

**Current Time:**

Arya contemplated her sister. She was embroidering again, or making something- she wasn't sure. A few years back, Arya would have judged her for that. Would have teased (insulted), grabbed it to look (dirtied it) and have laughed (mocked) at how much time she put into such a small thing.

But then, back a few years ago, Sansa would have retorted with 'horse-face' (insulting), grabbed it back (shouting) and have compared it unfavourably to Arya's own work (smugly).

Now, things were different; as they grew things had mellowed greatly between the two sisters, until now they were each other's greatest allies (although Sansa was still so _prissy_ sometimes, she knew she herself was still _very_ bull-headed).

It had started to change when Sansa was 13 and had flowered. As soon as that knowledge became well known, the suitors came, and whilst Robb and Jon were protective as possible, there were limits. Simply because Sansa's duty was to marry, and she knew there was extreme pressure on her sister to marry well. Partly contributed to the fact that both her parents were resigned to the fact that Arya was bloody well not marrying one of these jumped up sacks of shit and they couldn't bloody well make her.

The suitors were... different, to what Sansa had expected. And Arya too if she was honest.

Neither of them had expected the stares, and the hands and how her sister was often spoken of as if she wasn't there, or simply a prize. Of course, there were decent ones. But often their treatment of Jon acted as another hurdle, and Sansa was not one to suffer those who would malign her beloved cousin.

Sansa had started spending more time reading, more time riding out with her family, rather than seek anyone else out. She was still close confidants with Jeyne, but the girl simply didn't seem to understand how the attentions of some men made Sansa uncomfortable, saying that Sansa should simply appreciate their forwardness and take it as a compliment. She just didn't understand.

Arya noticed though, and she understood. She knew Sansa wanted love in her marriage, a love like their parents. And she knew her sister might not find it, not unless she was very lucky. So, Arya decided that she would stick close to her sister and help weed out the nasty from the horrid from the decent-but-still-not-exactly-very-interesting.

Sansa had been so glad to have someone who could stay by her, who had the excuse of sisterhood to be around during and after lessons and whenever a lord would accost her in the hallway, she offered to help Arya with her stitching. Explaining that it was not just for decoration, but for practical purposes, she even made Arya a pair of breeches for her 12th nameday, though made her promise not to wear them around their Mother _too_ much.

Things improved even more with the arrival of their direwolves. The direwolves had quickly become inseparable from their human counterparts and Sansa had stood firm with Arya to their mother regarding having them sleep in their rooms and accompany them around the castle. She knew Sansa appreciated having Lady with her when she was addressed by visiting lords, finding strength in the protection Lady offered. The mule sized wolf lay curled around her sisters feet at that moment, with Ghost resting his massive snout in her lap. Huh. Ghost really did hang around her sister a lot, didn't he? Now that she thought about it, she barely saw Lady and Ghost without-

Arya pulled herself from her musings upon hearing her sister's voice.

"Jon! Whatever has happened to you?! I thought you were merely sparring in the training yard this morning!"

Arya looked her filthy cousin up and down, silently agreeing with her sister. What had happened?

"I bloody well hope whoever you were beating the shit out of looks worse than you, though that seems hard at this point."

"Arya! Language." Sansa chided with a fond roll of her eyes.

Arya merely flashed her a quick grin before looking expectantly back at her brother-in-all-but-name.

Jon chuckled, "I promise Manderly looks much worse off than I. Arse won't be able to walk for a week going from the sight of him."

"Manderly! Oh Jon, I hope this isn't because of the feast last night! You know I have to dance with them, and they really do have to ask, it wasn't really his fault that he stood on my foot, it was an accident! I saw you talk to him after the feast with Robb, you didn't do anything too bad to him, did you?"

Arya tilted her head. She swore she saw some sort of heat flash in her cousin's eyes when Sansa mentioned some altercation yesterday. It was gone quickly though, and was soon replaced by the tenderness Jon's eyes only seemed to hold when he looked upon herself and Sansa, though... today she noticed it was, a different sort of tenderness. Somehow, warmer. Almost hot.

Jon chuckled again and raised one of Sansa's hands in his dirty grip, laying a soft kiss upon the knuckles and speaking softly, never raising his head.

"Of course not my lady, I would never disappoint you by doing such a foolish thing."

Then he winked and released her hand and he was Jon, her teasing cousin again. But that warmth lingered till he looked away, and whilst the look he turned to give to her was still warm and still tender, it lacked heat.

Arya wasn't sure why, and she wasn't sure what that heat was, but she was glad it wasn't in her look, and for some reason... she was glad it was in Sansa's.

 

* * *

 

Ned shook his head. Of course he had found Sansa and Jon together this afternoon. It was known throughout Winterfell that Sansa always patched Jon up when he was hurt in the yard, and he had just received news that Jon had beaten another prospective suitor of Sansa's into the ground this morning.

A Manderly this time. Soon there would be no Northern sons left to try for his daughter's hand. It had become an unspoken rule that it was necessary to defeat the bastard of Winterfell to even approach Sansa Stark, and so far, no one had succeeded.

Ned looked down at the letter in his hands. He had received the raven this morning, but now was even more unsure of what to do with it. On one hand, he couldn't turn down his king. On the other, well he didn't want to hurt his eldest daughter. He didn't want her to leave him. She was so precious to him, to her mother, to their whole family. Even her and Arya got along now and Gods know how precarious that was for a while. The whole North doted on his daughter and her kindness, beauty and wit. She was renowned for the ability to cut down young men to size with one lashing of her sharp tongue. Greatjon Umber still roared with laughter every time he saw her, and related the verbal thrashing she gave one of his nephews with immense joy.

So sending her South, where he would barely, if ever see her... it didn't sit well with him.

But then, this sudden, revelation of something perhaps growing between her and Jon- well it couldn't happen, shouldn't happen. Even though his nephew was a prince, even if he did really have the right lineage, the right name and blood- it was too dangerous to bring Jon into the attention of Westeros like that. How could he ever justify marrying off the most eligible daughter of the North to her bastard cousin, and how could he justify supporting them and providing for them when instead her marriage could have brought great wealth and allies for the North?

No.

It just couldn't happen. As much as it pained him. He just... couldn't let it happen.

But he didn't know if he could send Sansa away, at least not yet, so that left...

Knock. Knock.

"Uncle Ned? You wished to speak with me?"

Yes, that left Jon. What was he going to do with Jon.

"Ah yes, Jon. Come in, come in. Sit down. We have much to talk about."

"We do?"

"Yes, Jon. We need to talk about your future. And about... about where you're going."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dn dn dnnnnnnnnnnnn. So maybe a bit more insight into the development of Jon's feelings, into Arya and Sansa's growth and into the issues Ned currently has with a romance between Jon and Sansa. Not to mention, I wonder what the raven from the king said? and which King is on the throne do you reckon? I hope you enjoyed and thank you so much to everyone who is reading this but especially to those who Kudos, Comment and bookmark, it just makes me so excited to write seeing your encouragement!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon's Pov. Ned and Jon have their talk. Neither of them are too happy. Thank you to all those who are reading, kudosing and commenting!! You're amazing! Please don't hate me by the end of the chapter!

Jon sat down apprehensively at his Uncle's desk, looking evenly across into the eyes of the man who raised him, trying not to show his nerves.

Unexpectedly, Ned stood and started pacing behind his desk, pausing at the window of his solar before striding back to Jon's side, drawing his chair to sit next to him. 

Jon grew more nervous. 

 _'T_ _his is Uncle Ned',_ he thought, ' _he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't send me away. He wouldn't take me from Sansa. He knows how she needs me. I protect her. I need to stay. I have to stay.'_

Jon could feel himself growing panicked and forced himself to calm, he had to be calm.

"Is this... about this afternoon, Uncle Ned? Sansa had simply been tending my wounds as she always does. She was tired and fell asleep afterwards, it was perfectly innocent. I swear it."

Jon inwardly grimaced at the lie. It had not been purely innocent. At least not for him.

 

* * *

 

_Jon would not be ashamed to admit that every time he was injured even slightly in the training yard, he was happy to milk his wounds for all they were worth. Sansa was always so sweet in her attentions, humming softly as she bathed scratches and soothed bruises. She let out the most delectable little whines and whimpers upon seeing each new scratch, even the ones that Jon couldn't feel received a sound of concern and a sweet kiss after they were attended to._

_It had become a tradition after Jon had gotten a nasty cut over his eye when fighting an Umber a few years ago (the fucker that dared to steal Sansa's first fucking kiss, which should have been his Gods fucking damn him-), that Sansa would look after his numerous cuts and scrapes under the Heart Tree in the Godswood._

_Maybe he should have felt bad for letting her pay him more attention than was necessarily due. Maybe he should be ashamed._

_But he wasn't._

_Because every time Jon had Sansa to himself, he was able to pretend. He could pretend that she was his lady wife. That they were in the Godswood of a keep of their own. It didn't matter where, as long as he had Sansa there with him. She would make it their home._

_He would indulge himself in a future he knew may never exist, that likely wouldn't._

_Sansa let out another soft whine at discovering a new scrape just below his collar bone, leaning closer to inspect the insignificant wound. Jon looked down at her pink lips, the lower one caught between teeth, growing more enticing by the second. For a moment he let himself imagine drawing her up with a hand in her hair and a hand on her cheek and bringing that lip between his own, suckling and tasting it like the potent drug he was sure it would be._

_He imagined her whine had escaped her whilst he drew his lips down her neck, stopping on her pulse point to settle a claiming mark on his beautiful wife._

_Jon brought himself back into reality with a tug on his tunic, trying to hide the hardness in his breeches from the lady halfway settled in his lap._

_Sansa had finished patching him up in the meantime and was studying him intently, unconsciously rubbing her long fingers into the corded muscle of his shoulder._

_"Are you sure you're alright Jon? You groaned quite a bit as I cleaned that last one. I hope I wasn't too rough."_

_Jon almost snorted, Sansa being rough? On him especially? Almost impossible._

_"I am fine, sweetling. Only tired. You must be too, after cleaning up your incorrigible cousin following a long day's lessons."_

_With that, Jon threaded an arm under Sansa's legs and back, bring her fully onto his lap, settling her perfectly against his hard chest._

_She melted into him, used to such a position after many a night curled up in comfort of each other, unbeknownst to any but themselves._

_He nestled his face into her soft hair, drawing her scent into his chest, cradling it there and feeling an ache grow again._

_For no matter how close he held her, he always wished her closer- wished her to remain with him and in him and to never, ever part with him._

 

* * *

 

Jon startled himself from reminiscing about his afternoon with Sansa at the sound of his Uncle speaking after a long silence.

"... I am sure it was Jon. However, I cannot ignore that you and Sansa have become increasingly... reliant on each other. To the point that I worry about what you shall do when one of you eventually... leaves Winterfell."

Jon felt the panic rising once again, gripping the end of the chair's arm rests so tight he felt the scratches on his knuckles reopen from the strain.

He forced himself to speak evenly, in a casual tone.

"We are merely very close Uncle, you know I care very much for all my cousins, but it is well known how I favour Arya and Sansa, I spend plenty time with Arya beside me just as with Sansa. And Sansa is but 16, she is unlikely to leave Winterfell for a marriage until one comes that is worthy of her."

"This may be true, although things for Sansa may also be... changing in the near future-"

"What?! Of what do you-"

"Do not interrupt me, Jon. You have been raised better than that."

Jon lowered himself from the half standing position he had brought himself to at hearing that things could be  _changing_ for  _Sansa._ He could not mean marriage, no it was too soon. Jon needed more time, he still hadn't even told Sansa, he wasn't even sure yet that she- that they- he had to-

"Jon. Listen to me. Sansa shall stay in Winterfell for the foreseeable future."

Jon expelled a breath, only realising then that he had held it, that he had stopped breathing at the notion of Sansa going somewhere, somehow, without  _him._

"However... I believe I will soon have to accept an offer of courtship on her behalf, and before that time comes - Sit down, Jon, now- I believe that you should take some time to invest in your own future, and making a decision on what you want to do."

Jon couldn't think, he couldn't breath. All he could feel was the familiar heat and rage that came upon him in the training yard. Yet it was worse than ever, because this was someone he wasn't even getting the chance to beat down. This unknown, this nameless, faceless cunt was being offered up what he cherished most in the world on a silver fucking platter and _he_ _couldn't do anything._

"What- want- I can't- Uncle Ned - You can't do this. You can't - who even is this, Sansa, she has to know- you can't just give some upstart cunt the right- Sansa she- Sansa can only have the best Uncle- has to have. To protect her Uncle Ned, you know this, Sansa, she's strong but those fuckers- she needs- She needs me. Sansa needs me."

Jon could barely speak, barely form words, he was out of his chair and pacing frantically, running hands through his curls and tugging, pulling, paining himself as he scrambled to make him understand. He had to understand.

"Jon."

He kept pacing, kicking his chair with no small amount of anger.

"Jon."

He swept his eyes round to his Uncle, not even trying to hide the pain and anger in his eyes.

"Who is it? Who is it that you cannot deny them? That you cannot state what you have to every Northern Lord and father before him. That they would need to prove themselves against me."

"I will tell you only if you sit. down. And show me the respect I deserve as head of your house and your liege lord. Now."

Jon sat down. But he did not lessen his glare, or attend to the wounds on his hands, now freely flowing blood into the bandages that bound them.

"This is why, Jon. This is why you will have to leave, if only for a time. You may return to Winterfell, but I would have you first experience more of the world, to learn what it is you wish to do with your life."

"I know what I want to do, I want to protect Sansa, and our family, I want to look after her, after them all. I want her safe."

"That is well and good, Jon. But the truth is simple. You will not be Sansa's husband, so you will not be able to always-"

"I shall be her sworn shield! Let me vow to her, let me swear myself as her sword then, if I can protect her that way at least, able to protect against whatever cunt husband you end up choosing for her."

"I LOVE HER TOO! SHE IS MY DAUGHTER!"

Jon flinched back violently. He had never heard his Uncle yell, or shout, or bellow- at least, never in anger. Only ever in revelry, and even then, so very rarely that it came as a surprise every time.

"I know you care for Sansa, Jon. But you are not the only one. I will always do what is best for her, and I will not hear from you that you think me stupid enough to marry her to a cunt that would treat her any less than the gift she is."

Jon felt a flutter of guilt stirring beneath the anger flooding his mind, and yet it did not give way to the fury that came in waves every time he thought of some fucking  _lord_ touching Sansa as a husband.

"And yet you would allow some man, some southern lord, to take her? Without even proving himself worthy?"

"I will allow  _some lord,_ to _court_ Sansa. There will be no promise of marriage. Not unless Sansa herself wills it. Now you have two options. You may listen to me now, or you can ignore me, and I will not force you to leave Winterfell. I would never do so, you know this. 

"But if you choose not to listen to what I suggest, then I will forbid you from spending time with Sansa alone. You will only be together at mealtimes or in the company of your Aunt or myself. Do not think I will not do it."

Jon fumed, barely believing what he was hearing, yearning to stride out of the solar and straight to Sansa's arms.

But he knew his Uncle would follow through, and he knew that he would have no one except possibly his cousins and Sansa on his side in the ensuring battle of wills. They would not outlast his uncle.

"Fine. I apologise for my disrespect, Uncle. What is it you would have me do?"

"You have my forgiveness, Jon. Now listen carefully. In the morning I shall reply to this Raven and send another to Starfall. In a Sennight, I will head to the Wall due to a request from your Uncle Benjen and Lord Commander Mormont. You shall come with me. You shall stay four moons turn. I shall stay two. I will return to Winterfell when King Robert and his only son and heir, the prince, arrive. For two moons, the Crown Prince shall court Sansa, and you shall stay at the Wall, learning under the Night's Watch and doing anything and everything you are asked. When you return, I hope Sir Arthur Dayne will have arrived and you shall learn under him. He offered in the past and I shall take him up on it on your behalf. 

"You shall be under his care for the next six moons, and he may do what he wishes with you, whether that means remaining in Winterfell, or taking you to Dorne. During those six moons, if the courtship is progressing well, we shall go south to King's Landing. You may join us, you may not. It depends on Sir Arthur. However, once the six moons are up, Sansa should be betrothed, whether it is to the crown prince, or to another that she has met in the south, she shall find a man worthy of her. At that point you may make a choice, Jon. Know now that I will not discourage you down any path, or encourage you up another. It is up to you.

"You may return to the wall and become a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. You may remain under Sir Arthur for as long as he will have you, and hopefully become knighted after some time. You may return to Winterfell to steward for Robb in the future. You may strike out on your own and leave Westeros if you so choose. Or, if you have not changed your mind, and you wish for nothing else: you may become Sansa's sworn shield."

Jon sat in shock. There was too much- too much to take in, to process to think of except-

"I will be Sansa's sworn shield. There is nothing else. Nothing."

"We shall see Jon. So do you accept my offer?"

Jon paused. It was so much at once, he could barely think. The only thing that was clear was that he would be away from Winterfell, from his family, from Arya and Robb, from Sansa. But if he stayed. He couldn't bare think of staying and being powerless to be near her, to know that he had inflicted such a punishment on himself, when in the end, he had a possible lifetime ahead of him with Sansa. Even if it was not... as he wanted to be.

And seeing the Wall, which as a boy he had thought so fascinating, squiring for the Sword of the Morning, the legendary knight, known to be defeated only by his Uncle, and even then not killed... well it was an exciting prospect.

There was a third option however... it sat low and dark in his belly, curling an enticing hand around his heart, squeezing it, just like the ache he felt when separating from Sansa. 

"Uncle... I accept your terms."

 

* * *

 

Jon knocked three times on the chamber door, only considering what he was doing for a moment before putting it out of his mind. This was right. This was good. This is what was intended.

Sansa slowly opened her door, hair mussed from sleep and her nightgown slipping off her shoulder. Jon pushed away the enticing image of a bare collarbone and throat for the moment, gently pushing inside and closing the door behind himself.

Curling a hand round her waist and one behind her neck, he brought her forehead to rest against his, closing his eyes and breathing her in.

"Jon?" Sansa settled easily into his grasp, bringing her hands to his chest and jaw.

The low warmth of his choice settled in his belly and it was only too easy to breathe his request onto her lips.

"Sansa. Come with me."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no chapter 5 yet, just a couple of edits, but I should be posting the next chapter this afternoon so get ready!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I am so sorry for the late update, ao3 refreshed when I was nearly finished like 5 days ago and that was mega demoralising but I have redone it and here it is. I hope it's enjoyable! Plz don't hate me. Also flashbacks are in Sansa's POV and current time is in Jon's. Love u all.  
> Notes of Edits: no new chapter straight away I'm afraid, just some edits, same ending soz.  
> Actually, writing the next chapter now so who knows, might get it out tonight.

**Three Years Ago:**

A moon and a half before her 13th nameday, Sansa Stark flowered. She was still young though, so the Lord and Lady of Winterfell tried their best to keep such news as quiet as was possible in such a keep. But it was not to be.

The chatter of handmaidens and maids is innocent enough, and whilst they may have only wished to share the good news of House Stark and the Lady Sansa, apple of the North's eye, chatter soon became news and by the next moon it was common knowledge.

_'Sansa Stark has flowered, therefore we must send every man, boy or insufferable git with no manners or taste to meet her, dance with her, and treat her like chattel.'_

Sansa wiped tears of frustration from her cheeks, angry at herself for once more mourning the gilded edges of her dreams.

Tonight ought to have been a celebration for her, and of her, and instead it had become nothing more than what felt like an auction.

Sansa could see the displeasure rolling off her Lord Father as he once again told a lord, "I am not betrothing my daughter for at least another three years so you would do much better to return to drinking my ale than ask such of me again."

It had not stopped the Lords approaching though, often too deep in their cups to recognise their glacial reception.

It had also not stopped their sons, and nephews, and cousins, and great-niece's-brother's-step-sons from attempting to make an impression whilst they danced.

Sansa hadn't realised that courting would be less romantic and often mostly repulsive. Of course, some were polite and well manner, behaving as was expected in their addressing of the eldest daughter of House Stark.

The Greatjon's nephew had been one of those, but even he had slid a hand a little too low during their second dance. She supposed that men should be expected to be like that in their cups, that it was in their nature.

But she couldn't help but compare them to- he would never- even when he drank he didn't-

"Lady Sansa!"

Sansa whipped around, cursing in her head with enough vitriol to make Theon blush.

"Lord Umber. I am surprised to see you ser, I would have thought you to be enjoying the festivities." She was so near her chambers, only two more corridors and she would have been there, free to relax and retire from a stressful evening and anticipate her late night confidant.

"Ah, but, my lady, who could possibly enjoy such celebrations without you to look upon."

_'I'm quite sure you would have bloody well survived it, I'm sure you would not have stayed conscious long enough for my absence to have too damning an effect.'_

Sansa put on a gleaming smile, hoping that drunk as he was, Umber would head back to the revelries with a little suggestion.

"Thank you my lord, but I found myself fatigued and was forced to retire. I appreciate your concern but I would not wish to deprive you from the celebration and ale for the sake of a small headache, you may return to the Great Hall without worry."

Sansa was surprised when Umber only stepped forward, seeming to somehow take her words as their opposite, or even as encouragement.

"You are very welcome my Lady, I'm sure you know, that it is a great wish of mine that you would one day... become my concern."

Oh Gods, she knew where this was going, and Umber was leaning closer, and she was against the wall, able to feel the heat of the springs at her back, the heat of the young man in front of her.

"I would very much like to be _concerned_ about you far into the future, my Lady."

And with that he leant down and paused only a moment to glance at a chest that was yet to really form, before pressing his lips to hers.

 

* * *

  

**Current Time:**

_"Sansa. Come with me."_

Jon clutched Sansa a little tighter around her waist, pulling her as close as physically possible in their current positions.

He dipped his head down to run his nose along the line of her throat, inhaling her and leaving the lightest brush of lips on her collarbone before straightening to look at the slight frown etched between her brows.

"Sansa?"

Sansa started, refocusing somewhat glazed eyes on Jon. Ghost and Lady, where they lay curled around them as a barrier of protectiveness and warmth, shifted at the sudden movement before once more settling back into each other.

"So... you are to go to the Wall, I am to be courted by the Prince, who I know nothing of except that he is said to be the image of his father, then you will return to be squired with Sir Arthur Dayne? And I shall go to King's Landing."

Jon shifted Sansa in his lap, leaning further back into the Heart Tree, before cupping her face in his hands.

"Indeed, that is a summary of what, what your Father... offered me. But Sansa, do not fear, Uncle Ned would not make you marry the Prince, even if he will make you agree to a courting, and Sansa... no matter what happens, I will stay by your side, I will not leave you."

Sansa reached a tremulous hand up to his face, tracing his brow and then cupping his jaw, brushing a soft thumb along his cheekbone.

"Oh Jon, you know I believe you, but if I am courted by the Crown Prince... then there is very little chance I could refute an offer of betrothal. Father may mean the best, but by agreeing to the King's offer of courtship... well I am sure the King has taken it to mean that we will surely be betrothed."

Jon could feel heat stirring in his stomach again, alongside the third option that he had nearly blurted out when he came to Sansa's door earlier in the night. 

Threading a hand into her unbound hair and laying the other over hers on his cheek, he brought their foreheads together- so close the clouds of their breath mingled in the cold night air.

"I will not- Sansa, you will not marry a man you do not wish to, I can promise you that. Uncle Ned promised that we will both spend a moon at Winterfell before I would leave with Sir Dayne and you to the South. If you... if you wish to marry the Prince, then, I will follow you South and become your sworn sword and if not-"

"Jon, no, sweet Jon," Jon could see tears gathering in Sansa's eyes and felt a sickening turn of his stomach, maybe, maybe she didn't feel it, didn't know-, "Jon, I cannot let you throw away your future to stay with me, you could stay with Sir Dayne for far longer, there is no saying where you could go, what you could do. I will not let you leave such possibilities out of concern-"

"Concern?! You think I will stay with you, watch you marry some unworthy boy, bear his children, live your life with him- out of concern?!"

"Jon-"

"No! No. Sansa- you must know-"

Jon buried his face in the crook of Sansa's neck, hiding tears of anger and frustration in the thin fabric of her nightgown. Aching to feel more of her, to lose himself in warmth he could feel slipping from his grasp as they spoke, he pushed the strap off her shoulder with his nose to better feel her skin against his lips. 

Sansa let out a gasp as Jon let his lips part and he licked a stripe up her neck to her pulse point. Gods, she arched her neck so beautifully for him, squirming and straining in his lap as he sucked a mark on the hollow below her jaw, as he had imagined doing so many times.

"Sansa," her name released from his chest as though it had been caged within for too long, "come with me. Please, leave with me. You know I will take care of you. I was going to ask at your chamber door but I couldn't bring myself to. But Sansa- Please- you know no one will please you, will look after you like I will. Come with me."

"Jon..."

He whipped his head back up to hers, using the hand still wound throughout her hair to bring her eyes to his, there was a tear streaking down her cheek, and he knew her answer.

"No please- Sansa, you know no one, no one could love you as I do."

"I know, Jon, I know. But Jon, it is my duty... no matter how much you love me and no matter how I feel..."

Jon looked into her eyes desperately at her words, as much as he felt as though he would burn up from his desperation to make her understand, that no one could love her as he did- Gods, how he wished to hear that she felt even half as much tenderness for him. 

"Do you remember, Jon, when the Greatjon's nephew had kissed me, and you came to me? Do you remember that night?"

 

* * *

 

**Three Years Ago:**

Sansa knew who it was as soon as she heard the knocks, and it only brought on another wave of tears.

She didn't move from her position on her bed, nor did she make any effort to fix her appearance; Jon had seen her in her nightclothes many a time before.

Jon's warm heavy body slipped into the bed behind her, curling around her and slipping his arms under her waist and across her shoulders. 

His gentle embrace brought a feeling of safely even Robb's arms hadn't achieved after he extracted her from Umber and kicked the man in the bullocks, swearing like a Manderly.

Sobs forced themselves from Sansa's chest, accompanied by full body shudders. Some may think she was overreacting over one stolen kiss, but it was her first, and Sansa knew she was mourning more than one kiss.

"W-Why is it like this? Why is nothing like the stories, Jon? They don't-no one- the men they look at me as if I was a prize, a roasted boar- they do not look at me as- as a Lady. Like Father looks at Mother- with, with love, and respect. I don't understand!"

Sobs again overtook Sansa's frame, racking her chest after releasing what she had been wondering for more than a moon. 

"Oh my sweet Sansa, I know, I'm so sorry, not all men are as such, but many are and I am so sorry. But men that are worthy, though I am unsure if any would be worthy of you, my Sansa, they will look at you with awe. They will see you and they will see the sun after a fortnight of clouds, and they will be gentle.

"I know this Sansa, there are... there are those that love you... and one day you will marry someone that looks at you like you are the most precious being in creation, that you are truly a gift of the Gods."

Sansa turned in Jon's arms, looking up at him, his face blurred by the tears still resting in her eyes- and all she could think was-

"But what if I cannot marry him? The one that looks at me like that- what if, we cannot be together, that such a marriage would be impossible?"

Jon's eyes softened even more, and he brought her to rest her head on his chest.

"To one that truly loves you, there is nothing that could stop such a marriage. Trust me, Sansa, I know this to be true."

Sansa looked up at Jon, dear precious Jon, and knew how she had imagined her first kiss-

 

* * *

 

**Current Time:**

"I wished for you to kiss me, because I knew that night that the only one who would look at me as you said, the only person I would ever want to look at me in such a way, was you.

"And I knew, Jon, that you were my sun, my fire and warmth and you would forever be who I measured men against."

Jon could scarcely hold himself still, so strong was the impulse to jump, to leap, to kiss, to devour, to have, and hold and love.

"But, Jon..." And all at once Jon brought himself back down, and whilst the knowledge of Sansa's love simmered throughout his body, sprinting down his veins, giving him new life, he knew that her answer would crush the dream of their escape.

"I cannot come with you, I cannot leave."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLZ DON'T HATE ME, EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY.  
> Trust me. I only do happy endings.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait, and sorry for the short chapter. Long story short, a good friend of mine died in a car accident and then my dad got diagnosed with terminal cancer so things have been a bit crazy. I do want to finish these stories as writing them really brightens my mood, so thank you thank you to everyone reading and commenting and kudosing, it really really means a lot. :)

"I've loved you a very long time, you must know that."

Ned Stark looked up quizzically from his tenth read through of the King's Raven to stare at his wife.

He was not a demonstrative man, had never felt words of poetry touch on his tongue, had never been graced with the skill and will to sing some summer tune to his once southron wife. But he knew his wife knew of his love, and he gloried in hers every day of his life.

Actions though, simple and sometimes large, came to him without much thought. Moving to stand behind her as she sat at her vanity, an old darkwood Stark heirloom he knew she had grown fond of, he swept her unbound waves over one shoulder and knelt to one side, pressing a kiss to her collarbone as he went.

"Of course. Always."

Eyes that had melted at his movements and words re-steeled themselves as his beautiful wife turned to face him.

"Then I hope you will take this with all the love we have shared over the years..."

A brief pause as a hand rose to his bearded cheek.

"You are making a truly imbecilic mistake."

 

* * *

 

 

Robb worried, at times, that he wasn't worthy of it all. Of being heir. Of being his Father's eldest son.

He wondered at times, if everything would have just been so much easier if Jon had been the heir to Winterfell. To the North.

That was not to say that he didn't have pride in his role, his future, his family. The opposite, in fact. He loved them all too much to trust himself with them. But he also loved them all too much to trust them in the hands of anyone else. Except maybe Jon. He had always trusted Jon.

Maybe it was selfish of him, maybe he shouldn't have trusted Jon quite so much, maybe he shouldn't have entrusted his sisters to him.

Maybe.

Despite what others might think, though Robb doesn't care too much at this point, he isn't oblivious, and he hasn't missed the signs. Theon sends sly glances his way every time Sansa and Jon stand too close when they're about, obviously thinking that maybe that would be the time Robb would notice, and therefore react. But he's known since the beginning, before Jon knew, before Sansa even started having an inkling that something was different between her and Jon.

He had loved it, gloried in it; strange as it may sound. Considering that Jon would always be closer than a cousin, a brother in heart, Robb had been more than glad that Jon had fallen in love with his beautiful sister. Glad that Jon would protect and care for Sansa with a fury that no others would be able to match.

He cursed himself now. All that time he knew one half of the story, knew of Jon's quiet yearning, and he never even stopped to think what would happen if his sister, as soft and as strong as raw silk, fell for him as well.

That had been a few moons ago, and Robb could still barely think of the scene without a flush in his neck and a grip on his sword.

 

_Robb wondered absentmindedly where Jon might be, missing out on the trip to the springs they made most sennights._

_It was no great matter though, and he would surely catch up later, perhaps when he was finished escorting Sansa to a sewing lesson or some such._

_He snorted. Lately, it seemed almost as though Jon and Sansa had become inseparable, except when Sansa had her duties as a lady of the castle to attend to. Robb ignored the churning of almost envy in his stomach, reasoning that although he missed his siblings and cousin, it was through no fault of theirs that he often was not able to see them except at mealtimes. Lately his role as heir had him more preoccupied than ever- and Robb knew he should not rue that._

_It was hard though, to see them so happy without him there by their sides._

_Grey Wind nudged a cold nose into his hand, gesturing forward towards the springs- though, for some reason, his direwolf had led them round the back, why would he-_

_Oh._

_Sansa stood half in, half out, of the black springs, a wet shift clinging up top and spiralling out like petals around her where it met the water, her hair, bright and inflamed by the setting sun even when wet, was unbound and tumbling to her waist, preserving a smidgen of modesty where possible._

_Robb prepared to back out, sure that Lady would be there to protect his sister, and in any case, he was intruding on her privacy-_

_He spied Lady at last, half obscured by a white direwolf that melded into the summer snows._

_Where Ghost was, Jon followed._

_It took only a few meters of movement to see him, and to realise that it was his cousin that his sister stared at so fixedly._

_And he was staring back. Robb felt his shoulders tense, heard the grit of his teeth grinding, but he didn't move. He just watched. As Jon watched._

_Both of them were looking at each other in surprise, and he knew he couldn't have walked up long after Jon had, but they continued to stare long past what Robb knew to be an acceptable time, and he swore he could see them counting through all the outcomes as the moment held on by a string of silence._

_Sansa was the first to move, Jon the first to speak. Robb's eyes widened and his throat bobbed with a half suspended swallow._

_Sansa had stepped onto the snow dusted grass at the edge of the spring, her shift clinging translucent to her pale skin. Then she had reached down and pulled off her shift with a swift movement leaving her open to the chilly air and dusky light of the dying day._

_Robb's choked breath was covered by Jon's own._

_"...San-Sansa-"_

_Robb spun his eyes from his exposed sister to land them on his cousin._

_He looked wreaked, and Robb felt a twinge of tension leave his body at the look on Jon's face, at the emotion clinging to his body. Longing; desperate and pleading and shame and heat all wrapped up in a flush of his neck, his cheeks, the trembling of his shoulders and the unconscious grasping at the air with empty hands._

_Concern for her health was the only thing to move Robb's fumbling gaze back to his sister. Her eyes and lips were fixed on Jon and all he could read in her was awe, at Jon's reaction, at his control perhaps, he wasn't sure._

_But the cold air must have reached her by then, and she quickly grasped her great cloak, with its fur lining and wolf mantle, draping it around her body. As soon as her movement broke the stillness, Jon had spun round on the spot, looking off into the trees with deep, heaving breaths._

_Sansa hurried off with the warmth of Lady by her side and Jon was left to himself, and soon crumpled into a crouch with his head in his hands._

_There was nothing Robb could do at that point, he would never let them know he was there- Gods forbid. But there was no reason he couldn't still mess with the first man to see his sister as such._   _Waiting a few moments to make it possible, Robb walked quietly over to Jon, standing behind him._

_"JON!" His cousin jumped up and let out a shriek as Robb thumped him with no small amount of strength on the back and yelled into his ear._

_"There you are! I've been looking all over, fancy a swim?"_

_Robb had never seen such terror as what melted off his cousin's face in that moment - it was a beautiful sight._

 

He wasn't sure if they had realised then, or later, or before that- but from that point, Robb had known. Sansa and Jon were in love, and no one could change that.

 

* * *

 

Robb hadn't meant to listen in to Jon and his Lord Father's conversation, but he had meant to discuss the Raven he had read recently from the Wall, telling of a traitor running south.

But he had heard the voices, so he had leant down to listen, and he now knew every word and every plan. 

Robb would be the first to say that his sister deserved the best in the world, would be the first to say that the love between her and Jon was perhaps unwise. But he was not fool enough to think that a prince was better than his cousin in any way, not fool enough to think that any of this-that any of this planning- would stop Jon Snow from being with Sansa Stark.

But Robb also knew that his Father was stubborn, that he was set, sometimes, in his ways and his worries.

It was not for him to tell the Lord of Winterfell when he was being stupid.

It was for his wife.

 


End file.
